


Hannigram: Apéritif to The Wrath of the Lamb

by fragile-teacup (Mrs_Gene_Hunt)



Series: The Spaces Between [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6467095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Gene_Hunt/pseuds/fragile-teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Hannigram drabbles, charting the evolution of Will and Hannibal's relationship from the beginning to Season 1 to the end of Season 3. There are two drabbles per episode, one from Will's POV and the other from Hannibal's. One drabble for each episode was written during the 2016 Tumblr rewatch; the second set was composed for Hannibal Advent 2016.</p><p>This is Part 1 of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/491416">The Spaces Between</a>, which tells Will and Hannibal's story from the beginning of Season 1 right through to my version of Season 4. </p><p>I'm <a href="http://fragile-teacup.tumblr.com/">fragile-teacup</a> on tumblr. Drop by for a visit any time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apéritif

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mokuyoubi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/gifts), [damnslippyplanet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnslippyplanet/gifts), [emungere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/gifts), [drinkbloodlikewine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/gifts), [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/gifts), [KareliaSweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/gifts).



> In which Will receives a visitor.

'A fragile little teacup.'

It's the unexpectedness of it that catches him off guard, pulls the sound out of him - rusty at first (well, he hasn't had a whole lot to laugh about of late) but it's a genuine, throaty chuckle that seems to please his strangely compelling guest. As Will savours the rare moment of levity, he notices almost absently that Doctor Lecter is mirroring his grin, leaning forward slightly in his chair as Will leans back in his. He rubs his hand self-consciously across his jaw. 

'How do you see me?' He's strangely eager to hear the answer.

********

'How do you see me?'

Hannibal can't remember the last time he was so thoroughly entertained. Enchanted, even. That the object of his fascination should be such a prickly, diffident, scruffy individual amuses him. Appeals to his sense of whimsy. Perhaps that's why he hears music in the creaking laughter he elicits, delights in the sight of blue eyes sparkling with mirth and finds himself grinning in return. A strange, almost prescient sense of kinship, of solidarity, lends a possessive note to his voice as he replies honestly.

'The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.'


	2. Amuse-Bouche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will makes a confession.

'You're supposed to be my paddle.' Will doesn't mean to sound accusing, but since the shooting he's existed in an almost permanent state of unease and his agitation is increasing. 

Hannibal's talking again and then he stops, snaring Will's reluctant gaze - his voice so gentle, so knowing. 'Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?'

Will wants to look away but he can't; he doesn't want to answer but he does. 'I liked killing Hobbs.' It's barely a whisper - shaky, appalled.

Hannibal shifts in his chair, leans in close, intimate. And still Will can't look away.

********

'Killing must feel good to God, too.'

Powerful. 

The effect of his words on the trembling boy in the chair opposite. Hannibal wields each syllable with care, slicing with calculated precision through layer after layer of tiresome moral posturing, exposing ever more tantalising glimpses of the exquisite darkness of Will Graham's consciousness.

Beautiful.

The intricacies of that delicate mind, ripe for plucking. To be savoured, for Will possesses a rare intellect, too precious to be stripped and devoured all at once. Timing is everything and Hannibal finds himself relishing the challenge. The opportunity afforded by Will makes him feel...

Hungry.


	3. Potage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal observes Will.

Hannibal likes Will. He likes his voice: a relaxed drawl conjuring images of soft sunsets over glistening Louisiana bayous. He likes to watch him: his economy of movement, his expressive eyes (even when Will attempts to hide them behind the protective barrier of eyeglasses). He likes his intellect: rarely has Hannibal encountered such a fascinating, challenging, promising mind. Standing in the doorway of the lecture theatre with Jack, listening to Will deconstruct the 'Copycat Killer's' modus operandi with pinpoint accuracy, he feels an unexpected surge of pride and a warm smile tugs at his lips. Hannibal likes Will very much.

********

Will _feels_ him first. A quiet, reassuring presence. His paddle. His way out of dark places. The man in the shadows who could almost have been conjured out of Will's head steps forward with Jack and suddenly the air hums with vibrancy. Will doesn't acknowledge his guests but Hannibal's presence has snared his attention. He maintains his focus - doesn't allow himself to be distracted by that steadfast regard, by eyes filled with admiration and lips that quirk into an approving smile. Still, he can't help preening a little at the unaccustomed attention. It's nice to be understood. To be seen.


	4. Œuf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will acts out.

Will's angry about the Lost Boys. Maybe that's why he ignores Hannibal's greeting, flings his bag and jacket onto the couch, mooches across the room and pushes things around on Hannibal's desk instead of sitting down.

Now Hannibal's probing about his misguided gift for Abigail. 'Feeling paternal, Will?'

'Aren't you?' he snaps back.

'Yes.'

Grudging respect for Hannibal's easy admission.

'Our responsibility, yours and mine.'

The words echo in Will's head for hours afterwards. Truth is, he's acting out around Hannibal because becoming fathers has created a strange, tugging intimacy between them.

Will doesn't do intimacy.

But sass? No problem.

********

Seven-thirty and a tedious day is suddenly made brighter.

'Good evening, Will.'

In he stalks like an angry cat, strewing his belongings on the seldom-used couch. Paces the office, fretting and fussing over Abigail, over his Lost Boys. Toys with a letter opener, refuses to sit. Occasionally a patient will ignore etiquette, test the boundaries like this. It usually ends in referral. Hannibal waits for the inevitable annoyance to surface but all that materialises is fond indulgence. No rising urge to curtail and control. The liberties Will takes seem fitting somehow. After all, they are fathers now. They are... family?


	5. Coquilles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will visits Hannibal.

Independence or intimacy?

Until now, Will's always chosen the former. But sleepwalking on the open road with a phantom stag at his elbow has scared him.

He needs... what? An answer? An anchor?

He needs... who? He doesn't stop to analyse, allows instinct to direct him.

So now he's hovering in Hannibal's kitchen at dawn, mumbling an apology that's more etiquette than truth, because somehow he knew Hannibal wouldn't mind.

The doctor fixes coffee, talks about friendship, offers possible solutions. The knot of fear in Will's gut loosens.

Hannibal grounds him. Despite Will's best efforts, they've become friends.

Intimacy, then.

********

It's difficult to keep the smile from his face so he focuses on pouring the drinks. Black and sweet. A long time since he's shared coffee with anyone this early. Nice that it's with Will. Nice too that he would come to _him_ for reassurance, for advice.

Vulnerability suits Will, softens him. Makes him more receptive to eye contact, more susceptible to persuasion. Hannibal gives him the official patter to explain the sleepwalking: psychological trauma, etcetera. Keeps his real suspicions to himself. If he's right, what ails Will could prove an excellent conduit to that beautiful mind. Time will tell.


	6. Entrée

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal and Will think about each other.

Hannibal loves bestowing surprises, particularly when his two cherished pursuits, the arts culinary and homicidal, collide. He prefers not to be on the receiving end: continued liberty necessitates predictability. Will materialising on his doorstep at dawn should have provoked displeasure, discomfort, distaste. Instead, warmth and concern. He found himself fixing coffee, eager to talk. All surprises. Now Jack, after office hours, wants to talk. Another surprise. But it's not the same. Hannibal listens, mouths platitudes, affects concern. All the time, he's wishing it had been Will on the other side of the door. And that's the biggest surprise of all.

********

Wearisome classes all day; a stack of papers to grade. Will wishes he could blow this off, maybe take Hannibal up on his open invitation to breakfast-for-dinner with himself and Abigail. He'd left his phone on silent the evening they'd first tried to get him over - listening to Alana regale him with the details, he'd felt irrationally annoyed that she'd taken his place. And now the Ripper's cast his malevolent shadow over them all. Another shadow appears, antlered and hooved. Worryingly familiar. Worryingly real. He'll definitely call Hannibal. Then Alana and Jack arrive, all business. Swallows his disappointment. Maybe tomorrow.


	7. Sorbet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal's expectations are building.

Turning up unannounced? Bad idea. The wine, too. 

Feelings crowd in. Embarrassment (must hunt out the iron). Admiration for the choreographed dinner preparations. Surprise when Hannibal says 'stay' (yeah, Graham, you'd fit right in with his society friends). And something else, covered by fleeting smiles and weak jokes. Wistfulness. For more time like this, sharing confidences. For guests and help to evaporate. Dinner for two and they could share the wine. 

Pain behind a goodbye smile, then warmth coiling low, sensing Hannibal's thoughts, almost audible. 

_Don't go._

_Can't stay. I'm sorry._

No backward glance but buoyant steps. Expectation is building.

********

_Don't go._

For a moment, Hannibal thinks he may have said it aloud: he can read Will's reply clearly in the apologetic bob of his head, the slight twist of his mouth, the faint flush staining his cheekbones.

_Can't stay. I'm sorry._

But the kitchen is filled only with the quiet, efficient bustle of the sous-chefs, Vivaldi filtering through the speakers. Hannibal watches Will leave, glances down at the gift he's left behind. A very decent Vernon Bordeaux, 2008. He'll store it away for now, saved for another evening. Perhaps they could drink it together.

Expectation is unfamiliar but... nice.


	8. Fromage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal and Will worry about each other.

_Will._

Bach pulses through his mind, each tremulous note a single word, repeated. _Will._ Eyes locked on the doorway.

Pretending - to be upset about the broken bodies and bloodstains on the carpet (although one niggle - blood’s hellishly difficult to remove).

Not pretending - to yearn for the face he cherishes above all others to appear.

Carefully he picks up shards of recent conversation, turns them over in his mind. 

_Possibility of friendship…_  
_Requires trust…_  
_What I want…_  
_Someone worthy…_

Guilt, unfamiliar, pricks. Then relief, overwhelming. Will, alive. Will, concerned and tender. Smiling. Hannibal sighs, eyes glistening surety.

Trusted.  
Wanted.  
Worthy.

_Will._

********

Another crime scene; another body count. As always, Will tunes out Jack's grouching and the organised chaos of police, FBI, First Responders. But no pendulum today; no urge to recreate Budge's spiteful finale. Will's only thought is for the traumatised man whose relief-filled gaze snared him the moment he walked in.

_Hannibal._

Everything else fades away as he perches on the edge of the desk and notes with concern the blood streaked across Hannibal's face. Squashes the urge to grab a med-kit and clean him up a bit.

It's enough to be here for him.

It's enough to be close.


	9. Trou Normand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal's perceptions shift.

Why, as Will steps through the doorway, does he see the flash of feathers of a fallen angel? It's just Hannibal, sketching.

Why, as Will listens to his impassioned pleas for help protecting Abigail and her secret, does he hear the siren song? It's just Hannibal, reasoning. 

Why, as Will registers the reassuring warmth of the hand on his shoulder, does he feel the seductive clasp of Mephistopheles? It's just Hannibal, comforting.

The kaleidoscope of Will's mind twists and Hannibal's pattern shifts: its facets harder, brighter, sharper. 

Will sees the new design but tells himself it's okay.

It's just Hannibal.

********

'I helped her dispose of the body.'

'Evidently not well enough.'

Will prowls through the office, darkness coiling around him, clinging to him like sensuous velvet. Firing questions, demanding answers. Gaze unflinching, fearless, stern.

Entranced, enraptured, Hannibal stares straight back, the glint of steel in his mind blunted by the force of Will's righteous wrath. Finds himself in the grip of irresistible temptation - to be himself, to not be alone, _to be seen_ , if only for a moment. Allows Will a glimpse of the monster before slipping back into the guise of the man. For now.

_Soon, my boy. Soon._


	10. Buffet Froid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will trusts and Hannibal regrets.

Will feels safe. Here he can navigate his thoughts without fear of losing himself in the fog of his fevered mind. Here he has Hannibal: paddle and friend. Beth LeBeau's faux Murder Most Grandiose has scared him, his imagination's design far more lavish than the killer's. Why? Needing balance, he clutches at Hannibal's words as if they offer as solid a hold as the ladder at his back. Hannibal closes the distance between them, purposeful, concerned. Will is soothed and disconcerted, trapped and grounded. He arches into the mélange of sensation, trusting that Hannibal will anchor him. Keep him safe.

********

Hannibal dreams. He dreams in splashes of streaming light and vivid colour. Sometimes he dreams of Mischa, laughing as she presses tiny painted handprints to the courtyard well, or tenderly feeds lettuce leaves to the snails in their cochlear garden. Mostly, though, he dreams of Will. Of the glorious day when out of the ashes of Will's instability, the Lamb will rise, burning brightly in righteous fury for all the world to fear. And for Hannibal to worship. Transformation requires suffering. But seeing Will plagued by doubt and misery, Hannibal wishes that he could take the cup from his lips.


	11. Rôti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal guides Will.

Will's transformation is a privilege to bear witness to. A privilege to nurture. Madness spilling from his eyes and fine tremors in his voice are the sharps and flats, notes and rests of a rare, exquisite composition. Hannibal's composition, the notes written on the blank sheet of his loneliness. 'I need you to smile.' Ah, sublime supplication. Pride swells and his lips tug upwards, mirroring Will's. 'Good.' Relief that the fire has not raged out of control. A delicate balance is required, for to lose the boy would be as tragic and wasteful as to halt his metamorphosis. His Becoming.

********

'Will, can you hear me?'

The voice cuts through the dark, a soothing lullaby to calm his agitated mind. He knows it. Trusts it. Clings to it like a child and allows it to lead him back to the light. 

Becomes aware of his surroundings in increments. Dark polished wood, moulded indigo walls and floating shelves filled with richly-scented herbs. 

'Repeat after me... Raise both of your arms... Smile.' Hannibal's eyes, warmly approving as Will complies. Hannibal's palm, blissfully cool against his fevered skin. Comforting. Welcome. Leans in to the touch and closes his eyes, feeling anchored again. Feeling safe.


	12. Relevés

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal want to say things but don't.

A gentle clinking nudges him to consciousness and he blinks as a familiar sleek head comes into focus. Hannibal. Standing over his hospital bed, a darkly reassuring presence.

 _'It feels right to wake and find you here beside me,'_ Will wants to say as he watches Hannibal set out two steaming bowls of fragrant broth. 

'Smells delicious,' he comments gratefully instead.

 _'When did you become so important to me?'_ he wants to ask as he listens to Hannibal list, in endearingly pedantic detail, the ingredients of their meal.

'You made me chicken soup?' he enquires softly instead.

Sometimes, words fail.

********

Regret is a rare indulgence for Hannibal Lecter, guilt an almost alien concept. Yet both gnaw at him now with dull persistence. Will is pale and weak, his glorious brightness tarnished by the relentless progression of the encephalitis.

Time to put out the fire? Past time?

Self-doubt is disconcerting. Busies himself serving up the meal he spent hours fixing because sleep eluded him (another rarity).

'You made me chicken soup?'

The tender sassiness of Will's question tugs at him, gives him pause, mild irritation mingling with reluctant amusement mingling with an unexpectedly fierce sense of possessiveness.

_That's my boy._

'Yes.'


	13. Savoureux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal see and are seen.

Hannibal follows the guards down into the bowels of the BSHCI and waits for the final barrier to be removed, eager and impatient. This separation has proven unexpectedly hard. Steps through the doorway and pauses, scenting the air, eyes closing, enraptured. There he is: pure Will, free now of the clinging, cloying sweetness of the encephalitis. A necessary evil banished at last. Driven on by a surge of emotion, smile barely contained, he seeks his beloved boy. Finds him waiting, defeated in battle but unbroken in spirit. His beautiful, wrathful Lamb. Ah, the ecstasy of finally being seen.

'Hello, Will.'

********

Will hears the sharp clicking of hooves on bare concrete and waits, anchored to the hard prison cot by rage so intense, sadness so profound, loneliness so deep, he's almost incapacitated by the feelings. His head is clear now, senses sharp again. Doesn't need to look up to know that the creature from his nightmares is standing before him, watching him, curious and patient and smiling. Takes a breath. Forces himself up to confront it. Lifts his head and sees... Hannibal. Just Hannibal. His mentor, confidante, friend. His beautiful, terrible Monster. Ah, the horror of finally seeing.

'Hello, Doctor Lecter.'


	14. Kaiseki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will faces Hannibal.

_'Ever feel abandoned, Will?'_  
_'Abandonment requires expectation.'_

Whispers in his head, from Before. Voices, once separate, blurred into one. 

In the Before, Hannibal meant reassurance, relief, trust. In the After...

'You're not my friend.'

A rush of emotion: rage tinged with bitterness. Drawn inexorably closer, promising a Reckoning.

'I have huge faith in you, Will.' 

Hannibal's pride radiates through the bars, triggering in Will a yearning so deep, so profound, it silences his inner screaming. Gazes cling, a moment of perfect understanding suspended like a teardrop newly formed.

It does not last.

In the After, expectation is lost to abandonment.

********

'I can't get you out of my head.'

A rush of exhilaration, swiftly hidden yet sweet in its intensity. Hannibal softens, offers renewed friendship, prepares to smile. Then...

'You're not my friend. The, er, light from friendship won't reach us for a million years.'

Will's words, clipped, disdainful, deliberate, strike with painful accuracy.

_Cruel boy. You give with one hand and take with the other._

Yet how glorious he is in his righteous anger. How beautiful is this new intimacy between them, a silent understanding that binds them tightly and inextricably. Hannibal has never felt more enamoured in his life.


	15. Sakizuke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal cannot stay away.

'I trusted you.'

Hannibal feels the luminosity of Will Graham's suffering, aches for the beauty of it. Enraptured by the glint of anguished tears, the fine tremors in a voice denied him now except when distorted by the cold, cavernous walls of the BSHCI.

Soft words fall involuntarily from his lips, their intent genuine.

'Let me help you.'

Does Will feel it? This pull between them, in defiance of circumstance, distrust and betrayal? Shimmering tears finally fall, splinters breaking away from the brittle shell of Will's wrath, piercing Hannibal's heart.

'I need your help.'

Gravitationally bound, Hannibal knows his answer.

********

Caged, exhibited, inspected. The two doctors keep their distance. This won't do. Will waits for Alana to stop talking - useless, well-intentioned advice he will never take - then flicks his eyes to Hannibal. Time to draw him in, shut Alana out.

Voice soft, timbre unsteady, tone hushed to create a sense of intimacy, eyes beseeching.

'I needed to trust you.' 

With every welling tear, every shaky exhale, he sees Hannibal melt a little more.

'Let me help you.'

Congratulates himself on his duplicity, yet inside he's still screaming. Raging. Mourning the friendship they could have had. This reckoning will be bittersweet.


	16. Hassun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal play make believe.

'There may very well be another killer.'

Hannibal seems genuinely hopeful. Whatever he is, whatever he wants, it isn't this. This separateness. This isolating, tearing loneliness.

Will understands. Feels it too. Allows himself to doubt. What if it wasn't Hannibal? What if they could go back? To seven-thirty conversations. To the delicate dance of minds perfectly attuned. To friendship and trust and... 

'I want there to be.'

Whispered agony. Game suspended. Wants Hannibal to know. He - they - matter.

But.

Clarity returns, swift and inevitable, harsh sunlight hidden for an instant by soft cloud.

_I know you. I see._

Play resumes.

********

_Let's pretend._

'There may very well be another killer.'

Hannibal ignores the dull throb of jealousy at being usurped as Will's saviour. Focuses on the positive. This gift-giver could be the answer. Jack and his team have already proven receptive and, with luck, seven-thirty conversations could soon resume.

'I want there to be.'

Plaintive sadness in that earnest gaze. Will wants to pretend too. For a moment, tentative warmth again between them. But a lack of conviction dissolves the connection. 

He’s too clever. Frustratingly, wonderfully clever. 

Will has outgrown this game. No matter. Hannibal relishes the challenge of inventing another.


	17. Takiawase

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will shuts Hannibal out.

He hears whispers in the dark. His voice, pleading. Hannibal's, reassuring.

Rolling film adds shape and substance. Will stares through the bars of his mind: himself, standing helpless in Hannibal's dining room; Hannibal, all horrifying tenderness, caressing. Possessive. Defensive when Gideon has the temerity to suggest lack of feeling.

Pushing through the looking glass, Will swallows a thousand screams as he draws near, looks into that beautiful face. But when Hannibal looks straight back, a strange thing. Connection. Sympathy. 

'A terrible thing, to have your identity taken from you,' Hannibal says pointedly.

And an infinitesimal smile tugs at Will's lips.

********

Turned away at the door, refused access to Will. It's done so politely, Frederick flashing smiles of insulting insincerity, whispering sly insinuations as he bars the way. Hannibal feels it like a slap in the face; masks his displeasure, swallowing down a disconcerting feeling of abandonment. 

Beverly Katz is hot on the trail. No way of knowing what secrets Will might uncover as he explores the labyrinth of his mind, and the idea of Chilton fumbling around inside that precious vessel sets Hannibal's teeth on edge. Back to the wall, he knows that difficult decisions lie ahead.

_So be it._


	18. Mukōzuke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will begins his metamorphosis.

Beverly is the tipping point. Dissected, displayed, devoured.

Will's mired in misery, flayed by guilt. An end to procrastinating - he'll create no more ghosts.

'You'll have to kill him.' Gideon's right, but... conflict he should not be feeling. 

The boy is a surprise and an opportunity.

'I need a favour.' Though he barely gets the words out and clamps down hard on anguish he should not be feeling.

Antlers sprout: who's the monster now? Exhilaration he should not be feeling.

Alana is predictably sanctimonious. It's beginning to grate. 

'It's what I had to do.'

Beware the wrath of the Lamb.

********

Through a haze of pain and light-headedness, Hannibal considers the irony of his situation. Wasn't this what he pushed Will towards for months, carefully cultivating the growing monster inside? But as a playfellow for Hannibal's, not a replacement.

Feelings curdle. Retreating from his physical ordeal, he zones out Matthew Brown's preening posturing and examines them, turning each one over in his mind.

Admiration. For Will's nerve, attempting something so grandiose.

Disappointment. This is too impersonal - an empty experience. Brown's design more than Will's. 

Hurt. That Will has lied, obfuscated, played on his sympathies. 

Friendship, he muses, is a precarious business.


	19. Futamono

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal and Will are at an impasse.

Hannibal's stuck. Dissatisfaction with his new sonata. With Will.

Rare to feel anger, hurt, betrayal. Years since anyone has reached in and touched this part of himself. A part he thought long buried. His vulnerability.

Visiting Will doesn't help. Mutual feelings ricochet between them, bouncing off the walls they've erected between them. The notes discordant, harsh.

Anger, hurt, betrayal.

Issues a veiled threat. It's beneath him. He leaves abruptly, frustrated. And yet, within the threat, the solution. Sweet Alana's alibi for Will's freedom. 

From somber stalemate to fresh vivacity: an uplifting final measure. Their composition - Hannibal's and Will's - is evolving.

********

_If you want something doing..._

The split screen inside Will's head disorients and confuses. Part of him is ludicrously relieved that Matthew Brown was stopped. Sees Hannibal looking pale, slightly subdued, and feels a frustrating sting of remorse. Part of him is still seething with anger over Beverly, Abigail, his incarceration. Sees Hannibal looking immaculate, perfectly coiffed, and wants to yank his head through the bars and finish the job himself. Singularly angry but still helplessly drawn. 

Hannibal tuts and praises and threatens; Will huffs and fumes and rebuts. Getting nowhere fast, they're at an impasse.

_Time to change tactics._


	20. Yakimono

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will resumes his therapy.

Will doesn't feel free. More like consumed, obsessed, fascinated...

The course he's chosen - righteous, dangerous - pulls him back to Hannibal and it's so _easy_ to let it happen.

New haircut, ironed shirt. Variations on a theme - just a tweak here and there. 

Expected.

Pretends surprise but he _knew_ he'd be welcomed back to the time and place that's _his_ by right. Tries to ignore the first date butterflies and euphoria. Hard to deny that it feels right to take _his_ seat again, resume seven-thirty conversations. Hannibal feels it too, little smiles and sighs exchanged as something new unfurls between them.

********

Seven-thirty. Still at the office, though there's really no point. A glass of red and Bach in his head as he sits at his desk. Cannot stare at that empty chair anymore, especially now that Will is out. So near and yet...

A flutter in his chest with the knock at the door. Checks his appointment book: nothing he's forgotten. And suddenly he knows. He just _knows._  
  
'Hello Will.'

Can’t take his eyes off him and it's not just out of wariness. Will knows it too. A playful smirk and a little swagger as he strolls back into Hannibal's life.


	21. Su-zakana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will is drawn back to Hannibal.

Will's unpicking his feelings, stitch by stitch. 

Difficult to separate the strands: affection, rage, understanding, disillusionment, sympathy, loneliness. 

Difficult when Hannibal insists on standing beside him in the darkness, their renewed companionship an aching reminder of what they once were and could have been.

Clark Ingram, an unexpected catalyst, draws them together. A moment of perfect symmetry.

Hannibal whispers caresses of transformation and becoming, his touch a seductive tug, rending the seams of Will's life, changing the fabric of his thinking. 

Will feels the delicate thread of their connection pull taut. Wonders if he'll have the strength to sever it.

********

As Ingram cowers, Hannibal has eyes only for his deadly boy. Too risky to allow Ingram’s execution so moves swiftly to disarm him. Still, he can't resist the pull of those eyes: darkly savage, full of promise. Steps closer.

Curls his hand around Will's nape and hungrily catalogues each sensation. Skin hot against his palm, shorn curls brushing his fingertips. Will's eyes are averted at first, body tensed, but as Hannibal murmurs praise, a slow unbending. And, as their gazes meld, the tiniest hint of a smile. Hannibal can only stare, besotted, at the creature he has coaxed into being.


	22. Shiizakana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal dispenses tough love.

Adapt.  
The purity of dark truths polluted by facile conscience stirs the monster inside the man. Will's denial of his instincts is tiresome. Randall, a seed planted then forgotten, provides an unexpected opportunity.

'How many have there been?'

_Are you jealous, precious boy? Then prove yourself superior._

Evolve.  
Hot yearning. For Will to accept the radiant potential of his new skin and slough off the old. Doubt prompts a ruthless remedy: old pitted against new. 

Become.  
Some regret. Randall pitifully stripped of his savage beauty. But pleasure quickly bites.

 _Is this for me?_

Glorious offering. 

_Now, beloved, we are equals._

********

Vigilante justice? Sacrifice? Offering...

Will's walking a fine line but he figures Jack will just about tolerate this one. 

Waits in the dark, blood thrumming, catch of the day laid out on the dining room table. Simple. Rustic. Hannibal will like that: they can work on the presentation together.

The door clicks open. _Honey, I'm home._ Lets the darkness swallow him, eyes trained on his prize. Silence as Hannibal surveys the scene. Will senses surprise, a tinge of regret, pride, pleasure.

He looks up and their gazes mesh.

'I'd say this makes us even.'

_I'd say this makes us equals._


	23. Naka-choko

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal grow closer.

Unexpected tenderness. Gentle hands cradle and heal; Hannibal's soft voice draws a whispered confession. 'I've never felt as alive.'

Unexpected possessiveness. 'We know where we are with each other.' Feels like he's warning Alana off, resentful of her intrusion. 

Unexpected intimacy. Preparing the meat together. Sharing humour, intellect, affection. A seductive pull...

Unexpected truth beneath the lies. Will has everywhere to go but nowhere that he feels more understood. Known. Seen. 

_'Stay with me.'_

Cocooned within the silken warmth of minds perfectly attuned, a fear begins to grow that he will not emerge alone. That he will not want to.

********

Tenderness. For the battle-scarred conqueror whose offering graces Hannibal's table. No urge to linger over Randall's remains; Hannibal's only thought is to soothe his shy boy.

Possessiveness. Dinner for three seemed like a good idea at the time but Alana's relentless prodding jars and irritates. Still, worth it when Will stakes his claim with an utter lack of subtlety.

Intimacy. Lomo saltado for Will's first time. As he savours each bite, flashing smiles and appreciative glances, Hannibal cannot tear his gaze away. Dinner for two is so much better. 

Truth. This is everything Hannibal has ever wanted. 

_'Stay with me.'_


	24. Kō No Mono

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal gives Will a gift.
> 
> [Lure](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7573429)

He did not anticipate this. Whiskey, firelight and Will are a heady combination but they've done it before, stretched therapy sessions long past the appointed hour. Tonight is different. Will is softer, his guard relaxed, anticipating fatherhood. As Hannibal listens, a compelling need to share - to give something of himself in return - rises like a burst of light from the ashes of his memories. Disconcerting. So long since he has allowed himself to remember, to feel the loss, the love. Yet right to gift this to the only _other_ person in the world he has loved. 

'Her name was Mischa.'

********

He did not anticipate this. Seeing Hannibal so open, softened, vulnerable. Difficult enough to deal with the maelstrom of emotions growing in ferocity with each passing day. Anger. Guilt. Need. Hunger. Fear. Affection. The only way through is to keep telling himself that Hannibal is a monster. But right now, all he sees is a boy who lost his sister. A father who lost his child. A man of sorrows, aching for the loss they both bear. Abigail.

'I'm sorry.'

So much power in those words. So much regret in the look they share. Will has never felt so lost.


	25. Tome-wan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will crosses a line.
> 
> [2009 Bâtard-Montrachet Grand Cru](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7245682)

The man in the corner bleeds and grins, feeding strips of his unworthy flesh to an eager audience. He is alone. He will always be alone. For a moment, Will too feels the sharp bite of loneliness, until Hannibal steps from the shadows, filling the empty space beside him. Affection snatched from the jaws of death; moral turpitude born of righteous anger. For now, all else is forgotten: Jack's relentless pressurising, Bedelia's slippery warnings, Mason's manic cackling. Background noise. Tranquil here in the eye of the storm: shared understanding and indulgent smiles. Hell, shared amusement. 

_When did this become fun?_

********

Hannibal enjoyed gift-wrapping Mason. A thank you to Will for saving him; an apology for Margot and the baby.

Anticipation laced with tension. Who will show? The FBI Special Agent or Hannibal's darkling protégé? 

The answer is exquisitely apparent: bemusement not anger, indulgence intead of disgust, affection in the gaze that lingers.

A moment suspended, perfect and glistening, like a teardrop before it slips from the lash. 

Thinks of the bottle of 2009 Bâtard-Montrachet Grand Cru in the cellar. He'll bring it out for Will's next visit. After all, they have so much to celebrate. More even than Will realises...


	26. Mizumono

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal shatter.

The universe contracts to only them. The man bleeding out in the pantry, the woman lying on the front step, the crying girl in the kitchen - all shadows. Will stares into Hannibal and sees himself: fractured by betrayal, riven by rage. The teacup begins to shatter. Feels the first crack with Hannibal’s deep, shuddering sigh; another with the tender warmth of the palm against his cheek, thumb softly caressing, fingers tightening in his hair. Hears the hiss of accusation.

_See? This is what you've done to me._

The pieces that were Hannibal's Will disintegrate as the blade is pushed in.

********

Everything else is forgotten, the other players incapacitated or relegated to the sidelines. There's still so much to do but he'll stop the world turning for this. For Will. Hannibal stares into his duplicitous boy and sees himself: splintered by sorrow, fragmented by regret. The teacup begins to shatter. Feels the first crack with Will's clinging, beseeching gaze; another with the helpless flick of eyes to his lips. Hears the wail of contrition.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wish I could have chosen you. I'm sorry._

What was Will's Hannibal crumbles to dust with the severing thrust of the blade.


	27. Antipasto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal misses Will and Will sleeps.

Bedelia. Dimmond. Empty mockeries found wanting; discarded dolls in a make-believe world that no longer satisfies. Pulling the strings is a lonely occupation: what was once his private delight now serves only as an aching reminder of what he has lost. 

Equals. Conquerors. Intoxicating evenings spent entwined in each other's minds. What they had, irreplaceable. He knows that now.

A confidence shared before the world was shattered offers salvation. In the foyer of his memory palace he will strive to turn back time, to mend what was broken. A bloody valentine to bring Will's Hannibal back to gasping, exhilarating life.

********

_'All I need is a stream.'_

But the stream offers no consolation for this. Its incessant gurgling cheeriness mocks his despair. Its cold depths offer solitude when what he seeks is connection.

_'My palace is vast.'_

Steals in through a side door and steps into Hannibal's office. Not the first time he's snuck in here to feel safe. No one at home but he lingers a while, remembering. _Paddles. Clocks. Sketches. Music. Firelight. Us._ As Will's body sleeps, his mind drifts like a forlorn spectre around the room. Searching. Scavenging. Waiting. For the answer. For the way back. _To him._


	28. Primavera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will misses Hannibal and Hannibal sulks.

Drawn to the memory palace, to the ocean, to the chapel, to the catacombs, to the darkness, to Hannibal. Will can feel him. So close, so close. Lips tugged into an involuntary smile, the first in months. Strange how the wrong thing to do feels so _right_ in this moment. 

_Come to me. Please. Please._

Disappointment chokes him as realisation hits. Hannibal's not coming. He's not ready. Not today. They're both as conflicted as each other: angry, pining, bitter, longing. 

But in the darkness, an awakening. In a whisper of forgiveness, a rebirth. Hannibal's Will emerges, blinking, into the light.

********

In the mellow light of dusk, Hannibal sees him. Sitting, head bowed and pale, on the steps of the altar. This is not the victorious phantom who for months has haunted the rooms of his memory palace, mocking and elusive. This Will is real. This Will is alone. Forlorn. Bereft.

_And whose fault is that?_

Anger bites and Hannibal turns away.

In the inky darkness, Hannibal hears him. Twice Will calls his name, first sternly reproachful then softly beguiling. Not 'Doctor' but 'Hannibal.' Not 'I am singularly angry' but 'I forgive you.'

_Manipulative boy._

Bitterness spikes and Hannibal walks away.


	29. Secondo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal broods and Will evolves.

Clarity and confusion, satiation and denial. Seeing Will yet not being seen, hearing yet not being heard. Messages exchanged on both sides yet lines of communication still crossed.

Hannibal broods as Bedelia pokes, attempting to dissect a moment too private to be shared and a relationship she could never hope to understand. 

The ring on his finger glints in the firelight and for the first time he feels its weight as an irritation. A mockery. Bedelia's final dig: a suggestion that Hannibal is in love. Old news. A shrug. 

'You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.'

********

_'Do you know what an imago is, Will?'_

Cold lights, fragmented, brittle. Fashioned into glimmering wings and hoisted with a sailor's precision, the broken prisoner at the centre fuelling Will's transformation. Into what, he isn't certain, but he's... curious to find out. 

He gazes on his creation. His design. Wonders if Hannibal would be pleased with his gift: a human firefly for a human valentine. Was Alana right? Is this a courtship? Turns away before the answer has time to coalesce. Leaves with the uneasy sense that here in the dreamscape of Hannibal's beginning, he has glimpsed his own Becoming.


	30. Aperitivo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal consider the road not taken.

Fixing boat motors is straightforward. Lay out the pieces and it's plain to see how they're meant to slot together, to work out their design.

Fixing a broken heart is trickier. It involves teacups and time, assembling fragments of a scenario that never happened.

_Rewind and press play._

Instead of a gasket, a dining table. In place of a dial, rack of lamb and a ruby apple. Sacrifice and temptation on a silver platter. Hannibal in cream plaid, questioning eyes only for Will. 

_Are you coming? Are you mine?_

This time, the answer is frighteningly easy.

_I was always yours._

********

Fixing a meal is straightforward. Measure out the ingredients and it's plain to see how they're meant to blend together, to work out their design.

Fixing a broken heart is trickier. It involves teacups and time equations with a dash of make believe.

_Rewind and press play._

Instead of a recipe book, an inscribed invitation. In place of a centrepiece, Jack Crawford and Will Graham. Sacrifice and temptation. Will in beige and grey, somber gaze only for Hannibal. 

_Will you take me with you this time? Are you mine?_

The answer is achingly easy.

_Silly boy. I was always yours._


	31. Contorno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal move closer.

'I see you.'

'Malleable.'

In the cocoon of night, Chiyoh's knowing words tighten around him. Forced to confront his greatest fear. A stark choice: kill Hannibal or become him. Condemn himself to eternal aloneness or irrevocable transformation. Yet...

'There are means of influence other than violence.'

A third choice? Another way? He had once the power to change Hannibal - saw it daily in tender glances, indulgent smiles. Until he was caught in a lie and it was cut out of him. Possible to try again? Grasps the thought and tucks it away greedily. Precious treasure. If he gets the chance.

********

The vultures are circling. Mason. Pazzi. Jack. Eager for the slaughter, personal glory, personal vengeance.

Bedelia is slipping away. Understandable really. Hard to get invested in the role of romantic lead when you know you're just the understudy.

Paris, Florence and Palermo: a series of events, characters and settings already consigned to memory. But one more to create before the end of this Act. 

One more rendezvous beneath the shadow of La Primavera. But this time, planned and longed for. Time to stop obfuscating. Time to stop stalling. Only one co-star Hannibal is interested in playing opposite. Playing with. 

_Will._


	32. Dolce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal come back together.

The universe contracts again. The girl with gentle eyes and violent hands, the man pushing Will to murder by proxy, the elegant woman intoxicated by her own outrageous lies - suspended animation. 

_Whatever comes, this moment belongs to us._

Will stares into Hannibal. Sees himself. Blunted by forgiveness, remoulded by the need to understand. Feels the smooth edges of reconnection in the affection of Hannibal's regard, the tender cadence of his voice. 

'If I saw you every day forever, Will, I would remember this time.'

A tremulous sigh.

The pieces that are Hannibal's Will reassemble like strokes of pencil on paper.

********

Past and future forgotten. Pain, lies and betrayals - on both sides - erased. Retribution and loss of liberty are only ghostly threats. Insubstantial. Inconsequential. They've pressed pause. Taken a time out. All that matters is here and now.

_Whatever comes, this moment belongs to us._

Hannibal stares into his remarkable boy. Sees himself. Restored by acceptance, unreserved and unconditional. Feels softened by the healing warmth of Will's unguarded grin; made malleable by his easy, eager closeness. 

'You and I have begun to blur.'

A satisfied smile.

Will's Hannibal is whole again, recreated and reformed under the benign gaze of Botticelli's Primavera.


	33. Digestivo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will chooses a third way.

Will wakes after a nightmare of bone saws and scalpels to gentle hands and murmured assurances. Drifts back to sleep in soft, clean pyjamas, fingers stroking his hair; wakes again when the cold light of dusk floods the empty house. 

Hannibal's notebook beside him. Time equations and teacup-gathering. An apology for Florence? Hardens his resolve when Hannibal appears. This has to work, for both their sakes.

Recites the lines he's rehearsed, ignoring the unsteadiness of Hannibal's replies, the shimmer in his eyes, his own screaming heart. It hurts to lie. And when Hannibal walks out, it suddenly hurts to breathe.

********

Will's words are stilted, choreographed, flattened beneath the weight of his doubts, yet still they stab and stab. Hannibal wants to howl his frustration. What good can come of clinging to half-truths? Of denying what he is? What _they_ are?

_Who are you trying to convince, my Will?_

Blanches against the indignity of being spoken to with long-suffering politeness, like the last annoying guest at a party who has outstayed his welcome. Deeply-ingrained etiquette prevents him from refusing; deeply-felt pride stops words of protest tumbling from his lips.

But he will not go gently into the night. Not this time.


	34. The Great Red Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Hannibal receives a visitor.
> 
> [Breathe](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7521757)

Incense and melting wax. Glittering Byzantine mosaics. In Hannibal’s memory palace are many rooms, yet mostly he lingers here, waiting.

How long since his last glimpse?

_Three years, two days, twenty hours…_

Smells Will first. Appalling aftershave, the same he wore in court. A cheap confusion of artificial scents chosen for its novelty value. Chosen by a child.

_I’ve been left behind._

Harsh reality stings. Blinks hard, fingers tightening on the sketch he holds. Turns around.

‘Hello, Doctor Lecter.’

Still his beautiful, cruel boy. Still pretending. Still unable to stay away… _  
_

Tenderly savours the taste of his name.

‘Hello, Will.’

********

Incense and melting wax. Glittering Byzantine mosaics. The image of Hannibal graven on his heart, carved into his memory.

How long has he managed to stay away?

_Three years, two days, twenty hours..._

Cast out into self-imposed exile until Jack came calling. And now, horrifyingly, feels like he's home. But for what? Bitterness in Hannibal's eyes, jealousy in the stiffening of his spine?

_He thinks I've left him behind._

_So let's pretend._ All is well. Happy husband, happy father. Duty calls one last time.

'Hello, Doctor Lecter.'

Waits for the sound of his name on those lips.

'Hello, Will.'

_Breathe._


	35. ...and the Woman Clothed with the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will's pretence fools no one.

He was stupid to come.

To believe that polite formality would be any kind of shield against emotions, indecipherable and overwhelming, which flay him raw with every softly-spoken word from the jealous, covetous man standing in front of him.

To hope that a sheet of plexiglass would prevent him from reaching out with hungry, clinging eyes that belie the practised rejections falling from his lips.

To think that Hannibal wouldn't see straight through his carefully constructed family man façade to the desperate loneliness beneath.

So stupid to come. 

Yet more stupid still to believe that he ever had a choice.

********

Gazing upon Will's face pleases and intrigues. A work of art worthy of the Old Masters, there’s deceptive simplicity in the message conveyed, yet always something fresh to discover if one looks long and hard enough. If one provides the proper stimulus.

'Are you a good father, Will?'

 _Ah, there._ Shifting emotions like clouds scudding across a tumultuous sky. Anger aimed at Hannibal for calling him out. Derision pointed inwards because he knows it's a thin disguise. Fatherhood. Family. They know the truth.

_We are each other's family._

Suddenly Hannibal's eager to play again.

_Are you ready to play, Will?_


	36. ...and the Woman Clothed in Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will is jealous.

As Hannibal studies the Tooth Fairy's symbol, Will studies Hannibal. Notes his absorption in the photographs, his fascination with this 'shy boy'. Notes it and doesn't like it. Any of it.

_Why can't I look away? Why can't I stay away?_

'A magnificent thing, to see the world through his red haze.'

Jealousy, shaming yet undeniable, tightens his gut, hisses ugly suggestions in his ear. 

Bedelia's taunting words echo in his head. _'...did you just miss him that much?'_

_Someday, Doctor du Maurier, if I should ever find myself behind that coveted veil, you and I will have a reckoning._

********

Jealousy. For so long, an alien concept. Until Will. Until Alana and a clutch for balance, Margot and a Verger baby, a band of gold and a child's choice of aftershave...

Pricked by jealousy's talons again and again, Hannibal knows well its familiar grip, sickly scent, grating voice. 

How gratifying to recognise it in Will's burning stare and unsteady tenor. How wonderful to feel Will's gaze, locked onto him, demanding. 

_Ah, my boy, so now you want my full attention?_

Keeps his eyes on the photograph and triumph out of his voice as, with a frustrated sigh, Will moves away.


	37. ...and the Beast from the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will is Becoming.

Will's on a slippery slope. 

_Slick as Hell._

Hopeless to try to cling on to goodness when that's not what makes his heart pound, his blood rush, his soul expand.

A silent goodbye to Molly. An apologetic glance. Doesn't look back. Stares straight ahead. Allows himself to slide down, down, down. Follows his raging heart all the way to the BSHCI. To Hannibal. His monster. _His._

From angry accusations to sniping to hushed confessions and whispered suggestions. Will wants to tear down the partition, tear into Hannibal, consume and be consumed.

He craves this. He craves change. He craves _Hannibal._

********

Words are such marvellous tools. No sharp implements required to chip away at Will's defences: the Dragon is proving to be an excellent instrument. Hannibal sees the pleasing evidence in Will's reactions; the tightening of his jaw, danger sparking from his eyes. Allows himself to feast on the sight, to revel in the pure, lethal beauty of the boy smouldering and glaring on the other side of the glass. A privilege to witness the final stages of his Becoming. For soon he will face and defeat the Dragon. And then Hannibal will finally claim him. His Will. His Lamb. _His._


	38. The Number of the Beast is 666

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal deal with revelations.

'Is Hannibal in love with me?'

A redundant question. But it's as if he has to say it out loud for the pieces to click into place. For his mind to rewind and play back every gesture, word, look, touch; recognise the pain undercutting every betrayal, the muted joy pulsing beneath each moment of shared understanding.

'Yes. But do you ache for him?'

An easy answer. But to _feel_ rather than verbalise. Not an unfurling - rather, the reverse. A slow ravelling. Knotting. Binding. An inextricable tightening with each inhale and exhale as he acknowledges the terrible, beautiful, irrevocable truth.

_Always._

********

Hannibal's thinking about endings.

Bedelia's. He's devised the perfect recipe, arranged three table settings in his head. A perfect evening. Enjoys marinating the idea.

Chilton's. Flambéed and filleted. A beautiful job, poetically orchestrated by his capricious, cunning boy. 

Jack's. Even gods suffer from overconfidence and this one never did know where to draw the line. Doesn't he realise that Will's just stepped right over it? 

His own. Wrath and retribution are the hallmarks of Will's Becoming; should he choose to deliver another reckoning, will it be against the Dragon or the Devil?

'Hide us from the wrath of the Lamb.'


	39. The Wrath of the Lamb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal become one.

_Just one more moment. Just one more before we have to go._

Will's bargaining with God. Before he takes them over, he wants to memorise, to catalogue. Hoarding details, hoarding Hannibal. So much to treasure. Like the warmth of his breath against Will's hair, heart beating rapidly beneath Will's cheek, fingers clutching his shirt in a sweetly tentative embrace. Like blood, slick and sweet, and heat and _them._ Only them now. Will curls into him, clinging, possessive. _Mine._ No more denials or rejections. Just once he'll take what was always his. Presses close, pushes forward.

_Come with me, my love._

********

Curls black as night, skin pale as the moon, lips painted red with the Dragon's blood. Feral beauty in eyes that burn across the fallen corpse. 

Hannibal's imago, imprinted on his heart for eternity. 

_All I ever wanted._

Fingers grasp his shoulder; a blissful smile draws him in. Wants to lick the blood from those lips and his heart thuds at the thought. The young Lion nuzzles into him, forehead pressed into his shoulder. Everything stops. Closes his eyes and surrenders. A final thought as Will pushes forward and gravity betrays them.

_So be it, my darling. So be it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal's story continues in [The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8067853/chapters/18484759)


End file.
